


Reach For Me

by GavootTheScoot



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Constructive Criticism Welcome, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Will update tags as story progresses, but there is a lot of platonic relationships, crossposted to fanfiction dot net, i'm horrible at writing and this is my first story, idk how to tag those though, me too, ngl, no beta we die like men, please tell me how I can better my story, want to know what happens next?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-07-23 09:14:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20005870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GavootTheScoot/pseuds/GavootTheScoot
Summary: What is this feeling? It's so strong, pulling her this way and pushing her that way. Why is she so drawn to this face? It's warm, but strange. Comforting, but unsettling. Did she really bring him back? How? She was dead, wasn't she? That shouldn't be possible.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you're coming here from the hellsite that is fanfiction dot net, you'll know I attempted this story about three years ago and pretty much dropped off the face of the earth after that. Well, I'm here now and I want to try and develop project management skills so I'm going to try and seriously commit to this story! I am having a bunch of irl stuff to deal with so I'm not going to hold myself to a posting schedule just yet, but hopefully I will be able to soon! I'm just going to warn Y'all that I get most of my writing done at around 2 in the morning and I'm not quite ready for a beta reader yet. I will let you know when I do, though! Haha, in the meantime though, wish me the best of luck, and I hope Y'all enjoy my story!

It didn’t hurt, at first, if she was being completely honest. If she really tried, she could almost convince herself nothing had happened. It was only a daydream. A nightmare. An engine had just backfired in the parking lot. Right?

The fact her body was falling forward limply was only a hallucination. The people screaming her name—or just screaming in general—were just the results of ringing in her ears from yawning too hard. The bullet hadn’t really hit her, had it? Because the blood wasn’t _really_ soaking through her clothes, pooling on the shiny linoleum under her, was it?

Her eyes weren’t just staring upward. They were darting around, searching. Everything seemed to happen so _slowly_. Her brother was kneeling above her, worry and fear covering the entirety of his face, mostly converging in those oceans for eyes. Ocean, indeed—there were already tears dripping down his cheeks. Already, though, she could see how those eyes were going to dull, how dark circles were going to form from lack of sleep, how his lips would never pull into a mischievous grin around her again. But . . . she was still breathing, wasn’t she? Her chest rising up and down? Her heart still beating?

His mouth was moving, but she couldn’t hear anything—just the blood rushing in her ears. She wasn’t quite sure what would happen if she tried to speak. Would she be too loud? Too quiet? Would this bubble of shock pop and pain flood her?

All her life, she’d been fine with the thought of dying. She had never really been _afraid_ of Death taking her by the hand and leading her towards the afterlife. That, however, had been under the assumption she was going to die peacefully, old, after a full life of happiness.

Not at the age of seventeen, in a hole-in-the-wall diner, with a bullet lodged in her left lung.

Now that she was faced with the thought of leaving her family, her friends, her _life_ , she found she didn’t want to die. She didn’t _want_ to die. _Why have that thought now? Why make everything that much harder?_

She had to try and speak. Just one last time—she would never forgive herself if she didn’t try, even if it meant this hazy bubble would burst, that everything would come rushing in at once, that her slow death would suddenly become very, _very_ painful.

So, the girl attempted to take a breath, wincing as a small streak of pain shot through her ribs, and forced her gaze to settle on her brother, however hard it was. He’d always been there for her, especially when their parents had died. Car crash, pretty cliché—but no one ever thinks that could happen to them until it did. Just like she never thought someone would come to their small town, to this tiny diner hardly anyone knew about, and just start shooting.

She needed to get back on track—the shock was making it hard to think. Or maybe it was blood loss.

“B-bryan,” She choked out, voice gurgling in her throat. She was grateful for the hazy fog covering her mind, even if it caused her words to slur horribly. “Bryan, I-I—”

Bryan hushed her gently, one hand cupping her cheek. “Save your strength, Kat. The paramedics are coming, they’re almost here.”

She sagged, trying to tell him with her eyes that she _knew_ they wouldn’t get here in time, that she was more than likely going to die before they even managed to reach the building. If she was lucky (or unlucky, depending on how one saw it), she’d get to the ambulance before she gave out. She was dying either way, and she’d really rather not drag it out.

“No,” She mumbled, vision blurring. Was she crying? Or was it time? This soon? She _had_ to tell him. Just—just that, and she’d go. Willingly. She didn’t care anymore. _Just stop the pain!_ “I—I love you.” Her voice was slurring to the point her words were hardly recognizable, but Bryan seemed to understand. She could see his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs as he ran his thumb over her cheek. She felt something wet smear across her skin.

So she _was_ crying.

Here face was numbing, as well as the rest of her body. It was almost time. _I don’t want to go._

“I love you too, Kat,” Bryan whispered. “Don’t cry. Ok? You—you’ll be in a better place, painless. You’ll get to see Mom and Dad again. Don’t wait for me, all right? I might be a few decades late to the party, I’ve still got a ton of things to do. Tell them . . .” He swallowed thickly. “Tell them I said hi, though, ok?”

Kat hummed softly (well, as much as she could with blood pooling in her mouth and trickling down the corners of her lips), keeping her eyes on Bryan. She committed his face to memory again before closing her eyes, exhaling quietly and shuddering. She didn’t breathe in again.

Darkness surrounded her, pressing in, deafening, suffocating. It was impossible to tell if she was standing up, sitting down, floating, spinning, or just existing. Right now, she felt like a mere thought, a single feeling, and that scared her. She didn’t know how to react to this. She didn’t know what to do, or what to expect.

And Kat hated not knowing.

Something wrapped around her, slightly less suffocating than the everlasting darkness, and while it did nothing to push it away, she felt as though maybe, somewhere, there was a light she could reach for, a path to venture up to the final part of her life. Death.

She was dead; that was one thought she could not shake no matter how much she might have liked to forget. This, though, wasn’t how she imagined it to be. She thought it would have been more like a forest, an old, well-trodden path, or a stone road through an abandoned town no living soul had set eyes on. This darkness, it was _boring_. It was scary.

She could have been there for seconds, days, lifetimes, and she’d never know. Not even the whispers growing clearer around her, louder, until she couldn’t make anything out were a clue of how long she’d spent here.

The voices, though . . . .

_Come to me_ , they crooned, spreading around her like fine mist, a warm breath on a freezing day. _Come with us. We can give you everything. Anything you have ever wanted._

She couldn’t deny the fact that she had been tempted. To have everything she ever wanted? It sounded like a good deal to her. She found herself reaching towards the sound, the difference in her surroundings, the way out of this seemingly God-forsaken place, but then hesitation pushed through. Those voices, they sounded _intoxicating._ Smoke wreathing around a drug addict, the high fogging their mind, the alcohol whirling in their veins, slurring words and shortening tempers.

The voices, they sounded too good to be true. They sounded like everything her mother had warned her against. Every dark thing humanity had to offer, every man-made thing gone wrong, even nature’s attempt at poisoning the parasite leeching her life, getting rid of the pests that infected her home.

So she shrank back from those voices, waved away the mist, attempting to move away from the offers, the temptations, wanting to scream just to drown them out.

She wanted _out_ of there, even if it meant vanishing forever. She wanted away from the voices, away from the intoxicating temptation, away from the growing sounds, away from the screeched demands for her to _take it and love it_ and the increasing anger whipping around her, shoving her to and fro, squeezing tightly and threatening to rip her very soul to shreds—to leave _nothing_ behind.

A harsh ringing started up, drowning out the voices and causing her to flinch—or she would have, had she occupied a body at the time—and whirl around desperately, trying to get _away from everything it was too much at once she didn’t like she—_

The silence was a welcome relief for all of three seconds (two days? Five years?) before that, too, was deafening, and she was left in confusion. What did she want? Silence or sounds?

Well—at least _this_ silence felt warmer, more approachable, more welcome. Deafening as it was, it didn’t make her feel impossibly small.

_You have done well_. This voice, unlike the others, was crystal clear. It felt older, it was larger, and it felt comforting like the warmth of a fireplace, wrapping her in warmth. She felt like she was hugging . . . .

She should know who she was hugging. She didn’t, but they still felt incredibly safe. Did it really matter, as long as she knew that?

She squinted when she saw light, impossibly bright in the dark. It was pure white, and as it grew larger, blocking out the darkness, she felt she might go blind. Though . . . she felt like she had a body, now. Just—incorporeal. See through. Barely there.

But it _was_ there and she had one.

Through the bright light, Kat could have sworn she saw a face smiling down at her, looking so very familiar and ancient and, at the same time, a complete stranger. She stared up at them, eyes wide, before she eventually had to close her eyes. She didn’t want to lose her sight.

When she opened them again, she was surrounded by metal.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you'll notice, I updated my tags. This chapter does get a lil heavy, I think-but if you see something you think I should tag, let me know!
> 
> So there are mentions of implied suicide throughout the chapter, so be careful if that's one of your triggers!

Another day, another tick mark.

Every time she saw the sunrise, she drew another line in the dust of the room she had first woke up in. that had been quite a shock—being surrounded by metal. She thought she was in a cage until she realized there was a door, somewhat hidden by boxes. Exploring the place took most of her time, now. This building—or rather, many buildings stitched together—was absolutely _enormous_ ; it seemed impossible she would ever find everything this place had to offer. At least she was always drawn back to that first room, otherwise she would have been hopelessly lost by now.

Another day, another tick mark.

She didn’t think she’d ever be able to explore the entire thing, but two years is a long time. At least, she _thought_ it’d been two years. It was a little while before she got the idea to start marking her days, and a little longer to figure out _what_ to mark it with. Once she felt like the inside was too boring, she started trying to look around outside. It took a while for her to figure out light from the moon was less harsh on her than the sun, and so she spent many a day curled up in her room trying not to cry. To her below-average body temperature, the sun was blazing hot, even with the clouds covered. She couldn’t handle that type of heat.

 _Anyway_ —the sun hurt. It felt like her skin was burning, and she always felt like she had a nasty sunburn for days afterwards, even if her skin showed no blemish. The moon, however, just made her pleasantly warm. So, on nights where the moon was brighter, she took it upon herself to try and upturn every rock on the island. Yes, island. She’d figured that out after she found water on all sides of her. She couldn’t wander very far from the buildings, and the island was large, but it was small enough she could at least catch sight of the beaches everywhere. There was a small beach that she could reach easily, so occasionally, she’d splash in the shallow water and yell, and pretend she was a kid again. At least this way, she wouldn’t lose her voice—even if she may as well never talk to another person again.

Another day, another tick mark.

Occasionally, she would see someone—a living person—in or near the building. How they got her was beyond her, but small boats docked on one of the beaches she couldn’t reach gave her an obvious answer. The first few times she saw them, she tried talking to the people. After that, she stopped. Those first few people . . . they had been lonely, even lonelier than she ever was. Sad, angry . . . desperate. Those people never left the island. The first person had screamed at the sight of her (was she really that scary?) and ran, despite her pleas. He tripped on some rocks while trying to get back to his boat. There had been so much blood. She’d cried over him for days until official-looking people had arrived, grim-faced. She stared at them approaching for a long while, startled, until a sharp tug in her chest had her blinking in her room, staring blankly at her wall. The second person had called her a _sign_. She wept over her body until, again, the official people came, and she disappeared back into her room.

With this, she learned a few things. One, this island, had some sort of _stigma_ attached to it. There _had_ to be, otherwise those people wouldn’t be the only type of people she interacted with. Two, every time she saw someone she always felt their emotions as if it were her own. She had noticed this from the very first person. Even when the official people came to pick up the bodies, she felt shock that wasn’t her own. Horror, pity, maybe even disgust. It was almost always the same, even if the people were different.

One time, a group of teenagers came to her island (since when had this been _her_ island?). As usual, she picked up on the influx of emotions, so naturally she found the group, peeking out from a wall. Surprisingly, not all the emotions were bad—even some people who came and explored the building like her and left were lonely in some way. She shook her head, focusing back on the group. All guys, all with their phones out. Two split off, heading the opposite way, and her head tilted curiously. Should she follow them? Or stay here with the other two? The ones that were staying had the most negative emotions. One was angry—and tired. There was another emotion simmering below those, but she couldn’t place a name to it, so she let it be. It gave her a bad feeling of her own, though. The other kid, however, was just curious and excited, almost vibrating with the force of his emotions. Her own curiosity welled up, and after an apprehensive moment, she approached the two and politely asked if they were lost. She knew the way to all the beaches, even the ones she couldn’t reach. She should have no trouble giving them directions should they need it.

The two boys startled and whipped around, staring at her. The brown-haired boy lit up, while the blond . . . darkened. It was strange, but nothing she hadn’t expected. She was used to being treated with fear, however much it pained her. She never wanted to hurt anyone. The excited kid was yelling into his phone for the other two to come back, but the blond just stared at her, the whirlwind inside him growing darker. Suddenly, he brought his phone up and took a picture.

She flinched, not having expected the flash.

“This is so cool, the weeping woman’s real! I knew she wasn’t fake!” The brunet grinned, eyes glittering.

The blond frowned. “She killed my brother.”

She went pale—literally. The color drained out of her, leaving her body and clothes gray. “I—” Her voice cracked from disuse. “I did not kill anyone!”

“Tch.” The blonde’s eyebrows furrowed, and anger dominated his other emotions. He ignored the way his friend slowly deflated, eyes wide. “You don’t even remember. They found you over his body, head bashed in. he was trying to run but you wouldn’t let him. You _killed Ryan._ ” His voice grew into a shout, ringing in the steel halls and her ears.

There was only one person who fit that description. She choked up. “I—I didn’t! I just—I accidentally scared him—I was trying to calm—he tripped—I—” Her voice cut off in a sob. “I didn’t mean to!”

The brunet had been silent up to now. “James . . . is that true?”

She didn’t see the blond’s—James—face twist in pain, but she felt it. “Why would I lie about my little brother’s murder?!”

That broke her stillness. She disappeared with another sob, the sharp tugging in her chest bringing her back to her room. Time passed infinitely while she cried, voices in the back of her mind wreathing around her like smoke, thick and putrid.

 _He’s right you killed that kid. If it weren’t for you, he’d probably still be alive. You caused that grief. You_ hurt _him. You deserve this. You deserve to be alone._

**_You deserve to be alone._ **

Another day, another tick mark.

She didn’t try and approach anyone else after that. Most of the time, they left. Other times, they didn’t. she always cried for everyone who never left, balled up in her room, wiping away tears. She remembered one of the kids called her a weeping woman. She watched the explorers quietly, left her room less often, and rarely went down to her beach. That was the only thing keeping her ability to speak—she wasn’t sure what she’d do if she lost that.

Another day, another tick mark.

Soon, people stopped coming to the island altogether. Was it because of those teenagers? Or all the deaths? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out. She wouldn’t like the answer anyway.

Another day, another tick mark.

Another day, another tick mark.

Time blended together, no matter how many tick marks she made.

Another day, another tick mark.

Robots.

Giant robots were standing outside her building. There was no chance they were man-made.

Not when they were so warm, so welcome, so _bright._

She accidentally got herself introduced to them while she was messing with some boxes—when she heard a thundering roar overhead. It was sunrise, which meant she didn’t dare step outside, but she was able to pull herself up to a high window with relative ease. (Being a ghost meant one didn’t have much, if any, mass, after all). Her eyes widened when she caught sight of a ginormous plane, people walking and driving out. Some of the cars were unexpected—lots of variety, some mainly luxury, not meant to be driven on an island such as this.

Except maybe the ambulance, but it was an ugly color.

Still, she gasped when one of the vehicles—a large red and blue truck—flipped and twirled and _transformed,_ pieces dancing together to form a large, intimidating, _robot_. Only . . . even from here, she could feel the warmth it excluded, the brightness . . . she felt drawn towards it—almost like how she had been drawn towards her room, but _stronger._

Grayscale overrode her color when she realized impossibly deep blue eyes were locked on her, and she choked, instinctively falling back into a pocket. She stumbled into her room, drawing in breath she didn’t need to calm herself down. That was close—and scary. She groaned, pacing her room with her hands in her hair. Were they going to stay? From the looks of all the cargo the humans had been driving out, yes. She hoped they wouldn’t, however—she didn’t need these dangerously bright robots pulling her towards them and tempting her. They didn’t need her threatening to ruin that light. Not to mention all those people . . . this island didn’t have a stigma attached for nothing.

Another day, another tick mark.

They stayed.

Tick marks upon tick marks passed long past her ability to count littered her walls. Humans and robots (she eventually learned they were called Autobots) tromped around her island the entire time. She had to block off her room with boxes so no one would touch it and took up refuge in a lesser used part of the place. The unwanted tenants called it a base. She didn’t care, she just wanted them to leave so she could stop sneaking around and avoiding the painfully bright Autobots and painfully fragile humans (she could feel their collective loneliness no matter where she was, and she _hated_ it).

_You deserve to be alone._

_Never forget, **murderer.**_

When she slept, she didn’t really sleep. She didn’t need to, after all. She just returned to a sort of limbo where she had dreams. It was almost like daydreaming, only more dangerous. It was dangerous because she always saw that warm, inviting face she constantly yearned for, because those inky voices were always stronger than her. Right now, though, she wasn’t sleeping—though, in retrospect, she wished she had been. Right now, she was making her way down to the beach—she hadn’t done her mini ritual since the Autobots had arrived. She needed a good yell.

She stepped onto the rough sand after climbing over and under rocks, humming tunelessly under the full moon. The water didn’t look too high, but she had no problem splashing into the water with reckless abandon. The familiar cold feeling soothed her—her legs were cold while her back remained a pleasant warm. After a bit, she giggled, then laughed, until she was literally shouting her laughs. This was the loudest she would ever get, so she always made the most of her little ritual.

She hopped and ran around in the water, laughing until her lungs and throat hurt and yelling some more.

—Only for her to shriek mid-laugh upon turning around and locking eyes with impossible blue. Her color bled out almost instantly, and she instinctively reached for the constant tugging in her chest. Nothing happened for all of two seconds, and her panicked gaze swung to the other Autobots (and humans) on the short cliff edge.

She finally disappeared just as the largest of the Autobots opened his(?) mouth, stumbling and flinching at the light that was _not_ in her room. She groaned, gasping for unneeded air, and fell on her back as the tugging in her chest few painful. Hesitantly, fearfully, she reached for it—unknowingly physically reaching out in front of her—and light exploded in her fingertips. Moments later, the tugging ceased, and darkness surrounded her.

**_You deserve to be alone!_ **

The voices screeched, taunted, tearing at her and taking advantage of her lack of sight. _Murderer! You led them to their deaths! Trickster! You ruin **everything!**_

They tried to bait her, and it always worked. She screamed her argument, crying. She didn’t mean to! She _never_ meant to! She had only ever wanted to _help!_ She tried to drown out the accusations with her sobs, but all it ever did was strengthen the voices. She tore at herself, trying to push them away, trying to call for help. She didn’t want to be alone. She needed someone— _anyone._

She didn’t know when the other voices had appeared, only know that one moment she was wishing for warmth and the next it was surrounding her, pushing away the darkness and held her tightly, calming her down. The presence soothed her, while another presence fought off the voices.

There wasn’t much she knew, but she was certain the amount of energies the two presences were giving off was near-lethal. If she tried to go near anywhere the fighting entities, she would have been incinerated. Luckily, the presence holding her would allow no such thing to happen—it held her firmly but gently, cocooning her in feelings of _safe_ and warmth and she never wanted to leave this embrace.

Soon—centuries, minutes, days, seconds—the darker voices fled, but not without spitting something she couldn’t make out. No matter, because she saw the same face she was always overjoyed to see. She reached out, but like every other time, the face only smiled softly at her. Voices—lighter, calmer, better—whispered around her. _Go to the Matrix Bearer, little one._ She hadn’t seen the face move, but she knew the voices were a part of this entity. _Bring your Guardian. It is not yet our time to speak._

The presence holding her curled slightly tighter around her. This must be her guardian. She reached out, mimicking holding hands with the presence, and just like that a connection was established. Her guardian was happy, so very happy to go back with her. No time to waste, then. She sank into the warmth, closing her metaphorical eyes, and let herself be lulled to sleep.

She blinked, and found herself staring at an expanse of gray, surrounded by warmth. She blinked again, watching as the gray shifted and she was looking into a shade of blue that felt like it shouldn’t exist. She was staring at an Autobot—one she had never seen before. She would have been alarmed, but the connection told her that this was her guardian. She relaxed minutely, and after a moment the Autobot opened their mouth.

“Welcome back to the living, Lil’ Lady,” They (he?) announced. His grin shifted into something more sincere, a purr reverberating around her and threatening to send her back to sleep. “An’ thanks for bringin’ me back.”


	3. Chapter 2

Immediately, Kat's hands flew up to her chest, trying to feel for a heartbeat she _knew_ she didn't have. So then . . . why did she feel disappointed? She scolded herself—why _would_ she be alive? It was just an expression for people that had slept for a while. She shouldn't get her hopes up. There was no use in it—the only thing that would happen is her getting hurt. Kat glanced up at her Guardian, hesitantly nestling into the warmth he provided.

She had felt him, when he was protecting her from those energies. Had he been dead before? Had _she_ brought him back? That shouldn't be possible, though . . . right? Maybe she shouldn't think about it just yet. Hopefully that face would have an explanation. _Don't get your hopes up._ Kat fought back a scowl, unsure of what to make of the tingling in her chest. It almost felt like her room was pulling at her, but . . . not quite.

It wouldn't be smart to get lost in her thoughts, however, as the ugly colored ambulance was storming their way. Oh, he looked shocked, but he was also angry. At her? Had she done something wrong? Kat shrank down, finding solace in the comfort Guardian provided her.

"Easy Ratch," Guardian rumbled. "You're scarin' her."

That brought the ambulance—Ratch—up short, head tilting slightly as his eyes narrowed. Then he scowled, swatting Guardian upside the head.

"We wouldn't _be_ in this situation if you hadn't been a _reckless dumbaft_ ," He retorted. Kat could feel her Guardian shift, regret poking through his surface before it was buried. Ratch, it seemed, wasn't done yet—if the anger burning in his eyes was anything to go by. She watched him, watching the anger covering and pushing worry and grief down. Her head tilted to the side, eyebrows furrowing slightly. Well, anger was _usually_ easier to deal with. Kat stayed silent as Ratch went on a tirade, not quite able to keep up with what he was saying. She noticed when his anger would spark back up, though, like he was intentionally getting himself angry. Sympathy swelled in her, even as she curled up in Guardian's hands—when had he moved? He was sitting up now. She wondered if she had done something _more_ than just bring him back. But there was no way she could have healed him. That _had_ to be the face's doing.

Hours could have filled the silence once Ratch was done with his thorough scolding, though Kat could see he burned brighter than when she first saw him. She was in awe—how could he have been holding _this_ in and still be so bright? It made her wonder how bright the other Autobots would be once they saw Guardian. She wondered how long they knew him.

Kat jerked back to the present when Guardian spoke, tipping her head back but unable to see past the strange glass that wrapped around his eyes. "Ah don' regret my actions, Ratch." He was solemn. Sincere. "But I _do_ regret not thinkin' it through."

Ratch snorted. "Jazz, you idiot. You aren't leaving until I make sure you're at full health. Understood?"

Guardian—ah, Jazz—chuckled. If it sounded a bit watery, no one commented. "Loud n' clear."

Ratch harrumphed, mouth set in a hard line as he bustled about. He was too far away for her to see exactly what he was doing, but moments later a blue light shone up and down Guardian—Jazz. His name was Jazz.

Now." She looked up at Ratch, who was glancing between her and whatever was on his arm. "Who are you? You don't show up on my scans as a normal human. Not to mention…." He trailed off into mumbles, tapping something on his forearm. _Not to mention_ he saw her disappear from the shallows earlier. He'd been there, right? Most of the Autobots were. The only one that really concerned her, though, was the large one with impossibly blue eyes. The one she felt _drawn_ to. Why? It didn't make sense. Did he have the same type of energy as her room?

Now that she thought about it, _why_ was she drawn to that specific room? Was it because she woke up in it? What would happen if she tried to pull herself to her room and that other Autobot interfered? Would she be pulled to him instead?

"Sweetspark?" The soft voice of her Guardian snapped her from her whirling questions, and she noticed both he and Ratch were staring at her. Why were they so _bright?_ She sucked in a breath, chest tightening as color started bleeding out.

_Never Forget._

Why was she letting herself get so close to them? She hadn't wanted them here in the first place. All she would do was end up _hurting_ them. She wouldn't be able to handle that. She wouldn't be able to handle being the reason their lights dimmed. She _wouldn't_ let that happen. They were the brightest beings she'd seen since she woke up surrounded by metal. She wouldn't let those lights dim. That was the only thing that was going to happen if she stayed around them.

A small purr rumbled through Jazz before she could get even more worked up. "Easy, Sweetspark. Ratchet was only tryin' ta ask how ya got here."

. . . _Ratchet?_ Oh. Ratch. That must be his full name, then. Kat glanced between the two Autobots, dazed. Jazz was still purring softly. It helped, a little.

"I…" Kat shrugged helplessly, reaching up to rub at her eyes. She wouldn't cry, not today. "I was just trying to go to my room. I—I ended up here instead. I don't know how."

Ratchet hummed, a finger curling under his chin. " _Something_ happened, though, and brought Jazz back to boot. That type of energy would have to be on the same level as the AllSpark, if not more powerful."

Kat's eyebrows furrowed slightly, head tilted. AllSpark? That was a strange name. Jazz knew what it was if his surprise was anything to go by. She was just confused.

Ratchet continued. "It doesn't make sense, though—you haven't had any type of contact with it—my scans would have picked up any residual energy."

She hugged herself loosely, dropping her gaze to her legs. She knew it had something to do with the face she would see every time she slept—and had recently (almost) talked to. She opened her mouth, but her chest started tugging lightly and she closed her mouth, settling for shrugging again. Maybe she should wait on that for a bit. Something told her it wasn't time to mention those interactions.

Jazz took this moment to speak up. "Whatever it was, it definitely gave us a connection." He paused. "Ah've got a Guardian bond wit' her."

She heard Ratchet sigh _"Why am I not surprised?"_ but she didn't look up. Was that what her connection with Jazz was called? She _did_ call him Guardian. In all honesty she shouldn't have been surprised either.

"Wait a klick," Ratchet murmured, turning back to the two of them. "An actual _Bond_? With a human. Who doesn't have a Spark." A beam of light shot out, running up and down Kat. She shivered at the sensation, but otherwise stayed put. Ratchet frowned.

"What is it?" Jazz asked when it was apparent Ratchet wasn't saying anything anytime soon. The tugging in her chest started to grow a little stronger, and a small buzzing started up in her ears.

"There _is_ some sort of energy surrounding her," he said slowly. "It doesn't show up unless I'm scanning specifically for Spark signatures, and while it _isn't_ a Spark, the energy's definitely Cybertronian in nature. Whatever it is, this must be what allowed your own Spark to make that connection-and is likely what pulled you out of the Well. Optimus may know more than I."

The buzzing grew louder, and Kat rubbed at her ear in confusion. Was there a fly or something in here? Jazz and Ratchet weren't saying anything, though, and somehow she doubted Ratchet would allow a bug in his mini hospital room.

The buzzing stopped, and Kat realized Jazz was looking down at her. Coincidence? "Ya alright lil lady?"

Kat nodded. "There's a fly in here," she told him. "It's very loud."

Ratchet's gaze snapped to her. "What? There are no bugs in here—" His eyes grew wide. "Tell me when you hear it again." Kat nodded, and not two seconds later the buzzing started up.

"I can hear it," she said. "Oh—It stopped."

"She can hear comm. links?" Jazz's voice rose slightly in surprise.

"More specifically, the frequencies," Ratchet said. "Unless you can hear what we are saying?" He backed off when Kat shook her head. "Shame."

The tugging in her chest that had been steadily growing stronger grew sharp, but before she could say anything the large door swished open and the massive Autobot from before stepped through. Kat gasped, draining of color when those _stupid_ blue eyes locked on her. She tried to reach for her room, shrinking down when nothing happened-the same as when she had been in the shallows. What was keeping her from her room?

"Greetings, Miss Kat." Intimidating as he was, his voice was surprisingly soothing. Warmth surrounded her, and for a split second she saw an echo of that warm face over his. Was this the Matrix Bearer? He seemed a lot more than what she thought, yet . . . less than she expected.

She reached out habitually when the Autobot extended a finger, obviously intending on a handshake. Skin touched metal, and a shock went through the both of them, along with a peculiar feeling in her chest alongside the insistent tugging. Kat yanked her hand back with a small hiss, shaking the feeling back into her hand. She looked up, realizing all three Autobots were looking at her almost expectantly. Were they waiting for her to say something?

Oh. Had the large Autobot introduced himself? That must have been what the handshake was for. She felt bad she didn't catch his name. "I'm sorry, who are you again?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I'll see you in a month or so!


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